with a question?”
“A thousand if you like.”
“And you will answer — truthfully?” In her eagerness she was like a child.
He smiled. “If I answer at all, be sure it v/ill be truthful.”
“Tell me then, is Mr. Baggin your friend?”
“He is my dearest enemy,” he returned promptly.
She drew a deep breath of relief. “And my father?” The question was a whisper. She appeared to hang upon his reply. The count hesitated. “I do not know,” he admitted finally. “If he were not influenced by Mr. Baggin, I believe he would be my friend.”
“For the first time that evening Doris looked at him with warmth in her manner. “By that,” she said, smiling faintly, “I know you have told the truth. My father likes you, but Mr. Baggin sways him completely.” The smile deepened in her eyes and she laughed a little unsteadily. “You — you will be kind, and forgive my rudeness and — and my anger?” The coldness had departed from her face completely and she was charming.
The count looked hard at her. Her glance wavered, fell, and met his again for a long moment.
Her colour heightened, and her breath came more quickly. A cloud of passion was about them. It brushed them with invisible wings.
He broke the spell.
“I am happy to have convinced you of my — ah — sincerity,” he murmured. “And you do, in truth, believe me?”
She laughed softly. “Yes.”
“And will trust me?”
“Yes.”
He bent nearer to her. His face was quite pale and his eyes burned like living things. “May I put’my original question, then — my personality is not utterly displeasing to you?”
“My dear count,” it was Lady Dinsmore’s voice again, “it occurs to me that you are putting several hundred questions besides the one which I permitted you.”
“It is I who am the culprit, auntie,” exclaimed Doris gaily. “You see it was a game — taking down bottles off the shelf! Each one of us had ten questions which the other must answer truthfully. I finished mine first, and the count had just begun on his!”
“I see,” said Lady Dinsmore drily. “I fear, then, that I interrupted.” Count Poltavo leaned toward her persuasively.
“There is just one more important question, dear Lady Dinsmore,” he said,’” and that I should like to ask you.”
The little lady elevated her brows at him. “Insatiable youth!” she murmured. “What is your question?”
“It is a very small thing,” he replied, “but it has been in my mind for several days. I should like you and Miss Grayson — and Mr. Van Ingen, if he can find the time,” he bowed politely to the young American, “to visit my studio.”
Doris clapped her hands. “Delightful!” she exclaimed. “And will you do a sketch of auntie with her head cocked a bit to one side, like a pert little robin, and that adorable crooked smile?”
Lady Dinsmore patted her hand with a tolerant smile. “It is you that the count wishes to paint, my dear, not a wizened old woman like me.”
“If I might try both of you,” the count replied.
“Sometimes, with people who are my friends, the result is not so bad. The likeness, if it comes at all, comes quickly.”
Lady Dinsmore laughed. “We will come, I promise you! Some afternoon—”
“Morning,” he begged. “The light is better.”
“Some morning, then,” she agreed, “next week.”
The curtain rose upon Nedda and Canio, who sang with love and bitterness and rage. Lady Dinsmore yawned behind her fan. At the end of the act she rose.
“Doris, my dear, I am going to follow the example of your father. This air is stifling, and we have a heavy day before us tomorrow. Cord, will you go for our things?”
It was the count who handed the ladies to their places in the unobtrusively elegant electric coupe, while Van Ingen stood doggedly at his elbow, awaiting a last word with Doris. He was bitterly jealous of his rival, who, to the boy’s inflamed mind, seemed perversely lingering over his farewells. There was some colour for his anger. The count had taken the girl’s hand, and bending down so low that the two dark heads almost touched, was murmuring in her ear.
She smiled, but shook her head.
“Every moment tomorrow is already gone. And the next day also!”
He looked at her steadfastly for a moment. “I shall see you tomorrow,” he reiterated softly.
“Moreover, you yourself will send for me. I prophesy!”
She laughed, and gave her hand to Van Ingen.
“Goodnight, Cord,” she said with frank affection.
“You won’t forget you’re lunching with me tomorrow, Doris?” he begged.
“No, indeed!” she returned mischievously. “I want to see my father. And, Cord, do look him up in the morning and ‘phone me how he is — will you? I wish you could get him off for a walk.”
“I will.” He flushed with pleasure at the request. “I’ll take him out to the zoo.”
He closed the door and turned to rid himself of his companion.
The count stood with bared head, staring after the coupe. The corners of his lips curved in a slight smile, and his eyes were bright, as of one who dreams of pleasant things.
“Goodnight,” said Van Ingen shortly. The count laid a persuasive hand upon the young man’s arm.
“Not yet,” he begged. “You will perhaps stroll with me for a little?”
Van Ingen hesitated, frowning.
“I must insist!” Count Poltavo linked an arm through his companion’s, who perforce fell into step with him. “It is — how you say — a small matter of business!” He laughed softly.
Van Ingen stalked along in absolute silence. The man’s marked, almost insolent preference of Doris, as well as his amazing power over her, filled him with speechless rage. ,Given a pinchbeck title, he reflected viciously, and a glib tongue, and straightway loses her head. “What is your business?” he asked aloud. Poltavo threw back his head and laughed musically. “Ah, you Americans!” he murmured.
“You cut, like a sharp knife, straight to the heart of a matter. One stroke! ‘What is your business?’” He mimicked the young man’s curt speech with delicate precision.
“Your countrywoman, Miss
